


The Potato of Mass Destruction

by Cassiopeias_Sky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Party, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky x Reader, F/M, dad!bucky, i can neither confirm nor deny, some of this may or may not be based on specific pieces of my childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:17:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeias_Sky/pseuds/Cassiopeias_Sky
Summary: It’s your kids’ birthday party today, and everything is going well until some of your family arrives with an early birthday present for the boys.  Chaos ensues.  It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt - Bucky, to be exact, when he is the victim of an extraordinarily random freak accident.





	The Potato of Mass Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for @ruckystarnes Rae’s Summer of Satire Challenge, the prompt is “If I’m dying, let me eat cake.”/“You’re not dying.”/“Let me eat cake anyway.” The prompt is in bold.
> 
> I used some characters from one of my other fics (WEMtbB), so this story *could* be viewed as kind of a spoiler, however it can also be read as a complete story by itself. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Oh! And the pic at the bottom - yes, I did that. I am *that* extra.

The clock reads shortly after eleven in the morning as you hum along with the radio.  Despite the fact that you’re currently operating under a time crunch, you’re in your happy place.  Zen mode.  Relaxed and at ease in creative bliss.  As the smell of vanilla wafts through the kitchen, you painstakingly create a one eyed minion on top of a cupcake.

Your twin boys are turning eight next week, and you had suggested a private birthday party for their friends.  The boys had no problems with their friends coming to the family party, but you did.  Your extended family happens to include Captain America and Iron Man, among others, and their dad is the infamous Winter Soldier. Your boys’ friends know this and are perfectly capable of acting like decent human beings when surrounded by people who save the world as their full-time job, but their parents tend to get a little…intense…especially two of the single moms and one of the single dads.

To get around the inevitable secondhand embarrassment – and to keep the attention on the kids, where it’s supposed to be – you’d proposed two separate parties on consecutive weekends. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it to make sure they get the birthday they deserve.

The goggles on the current minion finally meet your standards, so you carefully place it on the platter with the completed cupcakes and…wait…weren’t you finished with 11 cupcakes?  Instinct has you whirling around, fears immediately confirmed.

“Bucky, no!  You can’t eat that!”  You snatch it back, inspecting it for any smudges in the icing. 

Your husband stares at you, eyebrows drawn together, empty hand still held up to his wide-open mouth.  “I can’t have even one?  You _always_ let me taste test.”

“No, Love, I’m sorry. These are for the boys’ ‘friends only’ birthday party this afternoon.  The first batch failed miserably – it’s a new recipe and I had to play with the temp and timing – so now I have _exactly_ the number of cupcakes needed for the number of guests.  It’s a good thing I decided to make the boys a small layer cake to blow out their candles or I’d have to uninvite two kids.” 

“So…just make more?” he suggests hopefully.  “I like cupcakes.”

You pick up another cupcake and begin to decorate it.  “Buck, I promise you can have all the cake you want next weekend when we have the family party.  And honestly, next week’s cake will be better cake.” 

“But it smells so good, Doll, please?  You love baking,” he steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, “and I love when you bake.  See?  Win – win.” 

You snicker at his antics as you lean into his embrace.   “I would if I could, Buck, but I can’t.  The party is in less than two hours. Besides, I’m out of rice flour and can’t use regular flour until after the party because I can’t risk any cross contamination in the kitchen.  So many of the kids have allergies that I had to make these gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free.”  

“Gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free – what the hell is holding these things together?”  

“Xanthan gum and flax seed.” You shake your head as you laugh, “One of the little girls that’s coming is allergic to _all_ of those, plus citrus.  I was so surprised when her mom told me that, I asked if her daughter survived on rainbows and unicorn farts.  I mean, what else can she eat?”

Bucky chuckles as he stealthily reaches for the bowl of icing, but you catch him in your peripheral and bring a wooden spoon down on his knuckles. 

Every now and then you manage to impress yourself with your reflexes.

“Ow!”

“Bucky!  I took me six tries to get decent tasting dairy free icing and I don’t have any to spare, so if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, get out of my kitchen!”

“I just wanted some cake,” he grumbles as he pouts. 

You turn to him and take his face gently in your hands.  “Bucky, my love, I know and I’m sorry.  I promise you’ll have all the cake you want next weekend.  I’ll even make some with extra frosting – I’ll pile on the old lady flowers so it’s an inch and a half thick, just like you like.  I just don’t have any to spare right now.”

“But next weekend is so far away,” he whines.

Your fingers slide back and tangle in his hair, and you press your lips to his before whispering, “I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?”

He pretends to think about it for a few seconds.  “Deal,” he smirks before pulling you close and kissing you deeply.

Who knows how long you were wrapped in each other’s embrace before you hear the door open and close – could be thirty seconds, could be ten minutes – you can never tell when you’re like this with Bucky because time stands still.

“Aw man, they’re at it again.”  Jimmy tries to sound disgusted, but you happen to know that he secretly loves that his mom and dad are affectionate.  It makes him feel secure.

You giggle at your son’s observation, but Bucky doesn’t break form.  He takes kissing his wife _very_ seriously.

“Do you really have to do that here?  We have people coming over.”  Artie does a better job at sounding irritated, but when Bucky finally breaks the kiss and you turn to him, you can see the small smile on your son’s lips.

“Yes, I do,” Bucky replies before you can shoo them away.  “I will have you know that, as your father, it is my solemn duty to show you how a man should treat his partner.”  Bucky’s hands rise to cradle your face as he speaks, “If you don’t see me treat your mom with love,” he pauses to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “adoration,” another tender kiss to your forehead, “and respect,” a gentle thumb glides over your cheek as he kisses the other, “then how are you supposed to know how to treat the person you love?  You can think it’s gross, but I’m doing my best to raise my boys to be loving, respectful men.”  He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “Besides, your mom’s hot.”

“Oh, gross,” Artie makes gagging noises while Jimmy rolls his eyes.

The conversation is interrupted by a brief knock on the front door.  “Hello!  Everyone decent?” 

“Grandpa!! Uncle Eddie!!” The boys run to the door and into the arms of the two men standing there. Technically it’s _your_ grandpa and uncle, but Great Grandpa and Great Uncle Eddie is just too much. 

“Hey boys, guess what?” 

Your uncle has an impish glint in his eye…you _know_ this look.  You don’t know what he’s holding behind his back, but whatever it is isn’t good. “Uncle Eddie, no.”

“Uncle Eddie, _yes,_ ” he declares, presenting what he was holding behind him.  “Happy birthday kiddos!”

“What the hell is that?”

You speak at the same time Bucky does, but louder.  “No! You are absolutely NOT giving my seven year olds a potato gun!”

“We’re practically eight, Mom!”

“Wait, it’s a _what_?”  Bucky looks both confused and delighted. 

Your uncle smirks at the chaos he’s sown.  “It’s fun!” 

“It’s a weapon of mass destruction!” you shoot back. 

Uncle Eddie shoots you an unimpressed look.  “You’re being a little dramatic here.”

You march over to your uncle and lift the white plastic barrel of the gun.  It still has its old Scooby Doo sticker on the side of it – the one you’d put there as a little girl. “It’s your old gun??  The one you souped up to make it even more powerful?!   No.  NO.  And I’m not being dramatic – it’s works by combustion and the barrel is wider than two inches – it _is classified as a weapon of mass destruction.”_

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky interjects, sounding slightly impressed that you knew that. 

“Aw, come on, peanut, you know we’re safe!  You let Bucky teach them gun safety and you’ve let us take them deer hunting for the past two years.  You trust us, you already know they’re in good hands!”

“Okay, first of all, the reason Bucky taught them gun safety is because there are guns in the house.  They’re inaccessible to the kids, but he did it as a precautionary measure.  Second, I am a grown ass woman.  I officially outgrew the nickname peanut _years_ ago.  Finally –“

“No,” your grandpa interrupts gently, “You were my first grandbaby.  You’ll always be my peanut.” 

“I – okay, fine.  But _finally_ , your gun safety isn’t in question, the potato gun is.  It doesn’t even _have_ a safety!”

Uncle Eddie grins as he pulls the can of Aqua Net out of its chamber.  “There, satisfied?”

You fold your arms and glare at your uncle.  

“Please, Mom? Pleeeeeeeease?”  Twin sets of beseeching eyes turn your way.  “Just until the party?”

You can feel Bucky’s stare boring into the side of your head.  He’d never contradict you in front of the boys – the two of you _always_ back each other’s plays, and if ever there’s an issue it’s discussed later – but you can practically hear his curiosity begging for permission.  

It’s pretty clear you’re outnumbered.  And, truth be told, it’s practically a right of passage in your family.   There was a time when it was you and your uncle begging _your_ mom…

“Fine,” you relent, “but it needs to disappear before any of the kids get here for the party.”

Five beaming smiles are your reward as your boys, grandpa, and uncle race to the back door to get to the back yard. 

“You know they’re gonna be fine, right?”  Bucky holds in his excitement to pull you into a reassuring embrace; even now, your well-being is his priority.  “Your family is really good about firearm safety, even by my standards.”

“You do realize that I just agreed to let my uncle – who drove through town last Saturday night with his bare ass smushed against the back window of his car while my aunt drove – take our boys out back to fire a homemade device that has enough power to shoot a potato over 200 yards?”

Bucky grasps you by the shoulders as he pulls back, eyes wide.  “When you put it that way…”

All you can do is nod when you see his curiosity overtaken by common sense.

“I’m gonna go…supervise…” He doesn’t even have the sentence fully out before he’s speeding toward the door.

“They’re gonna be fine.   It’s fine.  Everything is fine,” you mutter to yourself as you return to the cupcakes.

* * * 

It’s about a quarter past one, and the cupcakes are finally done.  The boys’ friends will probably start arriving within the next 40 minutes or so, so you take the platter of cupcakes and the boys’ small cake for the candles and head out to the back yard to set up the cake table.

When you step into the afternoon sunlight, the sounds of giggles and shrieks meet your ears.  They’ve been busy – all of the folding tables that had been placed are now decorated for the party.  The potato gun is sitting on top of one of the tables, abandoned for a game of chicken.  Jimmy is on Uncle Eddie’s shoulders, and Artie is on Bucky’s as they race around the yard.

As you lay out the cakes, everyone comes over to see what you’ve done, including the squirrel that lives in the tree providing the shade.

“Mom, those are so cool!” Jimmy’s practically jumping up and down.

Artie wraps his arms around your waist, “You’re the best momma ever,” he whispers, and your heart promptly melts.  

Unbeknownst to any of you, the squirrel had shifted to get a better look at the brightly colored confections, not catching anyone’s attention until it let out a loud squeak as it fell out of the tree.  This wouldn’t have been exactly catastrophic except that it landed _just right_ on the potato gun, somehow managing to fire a potato straight into Bucky’s crotch from 20 feet away.

The former assassin drops to the ground like a sack of apples.  His mouth opens in a silent scream as the blood drains from his face and he curls into the fetal position.

“Bucky, are you okay? Bucky?”  You rush to kneel next to him, trying to offer whatever comfort you can. You’re reasonably sure that this can’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

“Oh my God, I think this is the end of the line for me,” he groans, trying unsuccessfully to roll to his knees.  “I can see flashing lights.”  He gives up his efforts to move and curls into a ball in the grass.  “This isn’t how I thought I would go.”

“Buck, you’re going to be okay.”  Recognizing by his tone and actions that he isn’t in any actual danger, you have to swallow back the laughter that’s suddenly threatening to bubble out of you.

“No, I’m not.  I really think I’m dying, and **if I’m dying, let me eat cake**.”

Yep, he’s fine.  In pain, but fine.  “ **You’re not dying**.”

“ **Let me eat cake anyway**.”  He grins up at you with watery eyes.

You sit back on your heels, unable to fully hide your relief as you mutter, “You’re a shameless little shit.”

The boys approach slowly. “Dad?”  There’s a hint of fear in their voices, and this is enough for Bucky to pull himself together.

“I’m okay,” he whimpers as you help him sit up.  “I’m okay.”

They both kneel in front of him.  “Are you sure?” Jimmy whispers.

Bucky nods while grimacing. “It’s just your standard potato to the balls, not much worse than Auntie Nat’s cheap shot in a fight.  I’ll be fine, just gotta walk it off.  Now help me up.”

As the boys help their dad, your eyes turn to your uncle, who is trying unsuccessfully to hide behind your grandpa.  “Seriously? You forgot to pull out the hairspray _and_ the potato?”

Uncle Eddie stares at you in mild terror.  “I’m, uh, I should probably take that thing and leave because you have guests coming soon. See you next weekend, guys!”  You’ve never seen your uncle walk so fast in your entire life.

You turn to your grandpa, and he starts chuckling.  The laugh you’d managed to hold back earlier comes out in a snort, and the boys, understanding now exactly what happened, begin giggling uncontrollably.

“I can’t believe I still don’t get cake.”  The disappointment in his hoarse voice is crystal clear.  Shaking your head and completely unsuccessful at stopping your laughter, you pull his arm over your shoulders and help him limp back to the house.  When you pass the fridge, you pause to grab a bag of frozen peas for him to ice his tender junk.

* * *

Later that night, after the party is done and the boys are all tucked in, you do what you can to make up for Bucky’s ordeal.  He’ll be fully healed by tomorrow – the bruises are already beginning to fade – but you still feel bad for him.  

Giggling to yourself as you put on the final touches, you listen carefully for any sign of your husband. Not that it really matters – if he doesn’t want to be heard, he’s as silent as night.  Satisfied that he’s still upstairs in your bedroom either reading or writing in his journal, you snap the lid onto the dish, grab a fork, and make your way to him.

When you enter your bedroom, you realize why you were able to get away with preparing your little surprise.  He’s outside on the balcony with the doors closed.

Bucky turns his blue eyes your way when you join him, smiling softly as he reaches for you before noticing the thing in your hand.  Immediately recognizing the cake carrier, his eyes grow wide with delight.  “Is that for me?”

You smile as you gently place the dish in his lap.  “Mmm hmm.”

He removes the cover and bursts out laughing at what he finds.

A chocolate cake, decorated with an abundance of flowers and frosting at least an inch thick all the way around, with a message that leaves no room for misunderstanding as to whom this cake is for.

“Here’s your damn cake, you little shit.”


End file.
